Thomas and Newt - The Final Goodbye?
by kingy.77
Summary: *Warning! Contains spoilers for The death Cure!* (This is a story for anyone who was heart broken after Newts death) Thomas and Newt have a chance encounter which could spell the end for one of them. Newt has been there for Thomas since day one in the glade, but he never thought it would end like this.
1. Journey to the Hanger

They were about 10 miles away from the hanger. So far, the only cranks they had seen were occupied, fighting one another for scraps of food. Lawrence hadn't spoken since they left the Right Arm. He looked plagued with thoughts but he drove with obvious caution, making sure to keep to the main road. Thomas thought it was safe enough to rest on the back seat for the remainder of the drive. He turned his body so that his back was leant on one of the rear doors, and then balanced his head against the window. He must have been asleep for 5 miles before it happened.

Lawrence slammed on the breaks and a piercing shriek sounded from underneath the van. The screech tore through the air and Thomas was thrown like a rag doll towards the front window screen. His scrawny body crumpled against Lawrence's seat and all the breath disappeared from his lungs. He lay winded on the back seat, scorch air frantically rushing to fill his lungs.

He slowly opened his eyes to see Lawrence hovering above him with panic plastered all over his face. His eyes were wide and sweat dripped from his forehead.  
>"What happened?" Thomas snapped rubbing his eyes to clear his vision.<br>"I don't know! I think we hit something, it might have been a Crank. I don't know. But whatever it is it's stuck under the truck and now we can't move!".

This couldn't be happening. They were less than 5 miles away form the hanger and now they were trapped on the open road. Cranks were sure to have spotted them, and it wouldn't be long before they started to attack. Lawrence sat back in his chair and rubbed his hands against his face. He was visibly shaking by this point, the whole situation was terrifying.

After a few minutes Thomas was beginning to feel restless. He was sure that at any moment Cranks would start ripping into the vehicle tearing it to pieces until they reached them.  
>"We need to do something" Thomas screamed suddenly.<br>"What do you suggest? We get out and walk to the hanger?".  
>"No you Shank!" His head was still pounding and the heat inside the van was unbearable. "What if I took a look under the truck?" Thomas sighed with exhaustion. "There's no Cranks about and you can cover me".<p>

Lawrence stared at Thomas for a few moments. You could see his brain deliberating the risks involved, but they both knew something had to be done. If they stayed there, they were dead for sure. "Fine" Lawrence grunted. "You see a Crank you get back in the truck without so much as a second thought. You die, and I may as well die with you".  
>Lawrence turned away to ready his weapon. A fully loaded launcher. "Good that" Thomas muttered to himself. It was no fun working with a complete stranger. Minho would have made a joke about leaving him to save his own skin. After a nod that suggested Lawrence was ready, Thomas clicked the safety lock on the door beside him and hesitantly stepped outside of the vehicle.<p>

The sweltering scorch air slapped him right across the face. It was thick and hung in his throat. He hoped that there was somewhere left on earth where the air didn't feel like this. Air consistency never crossed his mind in the Glade. He backed away from the truck and crouched down on the ground. He checked that there was no sign of any Cranks and then tilted his head to peer beneath the truck. Immediately he was filled with relief at the realisation they had just hit an old garbage can. How Lawrence hadn't seen it Thomas could not understand. Reaching under with both arms, he slid the can out and then onto the side of the road. It was empty, despite a few blood stains and some grubby looking marks on the base.

The Scorch air was an unavoidable thought. It felt as though the sides of his neck were tightening like someone was turning a crank on his throat. There was hardly a sound outside of the van. Only the calming whistle of the wind and the clang of metal as the garbage can rolled down the slope next to the road. Thomas almost missed the glade when he stood in this empty barren land. He didn't miss the grievers or the concrete walls, he missed the lush grass that covered the glade like a blanket of green. He wondered if he would ever live on a patch of land like that again.

"Tommy. What the hell are you doing here?"

Thomas recognised the voice instantly. He was facing the truck so he couldn't see who it was, but no one else had ever called him Tommy.

"Newt."


	2. Don't Let Me Turn

Thomas spun around quickly and saw Newt standing about three meters in front of him. He looked terrible. His eyes were bloody and his face was littered with deep cuts and raw scratches. A tight layer of skin gripped like cloth to his delicate bones, Thomas thought that only the dead could look so pale. He couldn't have been more wrong.

"What are you doing here Tommy? You should be with the other munies."

Newt didn't move a muscle. His face was hard like concrete, as blood dripped from a gash above his left eye. Thomas' heart was pounding with a mix of fear and adrenaline. He just stood, watching, fixated on the blood that trickled down Newts cheek and onto his chest.

"Tom! You shuck face, say something!"

"What! What do you want me to say! I'm on my way to meet the others so we can infiltrate WICKED and save the buggin world! Wanna come with?"

"Shut it!" Newt spat. "I may be a crank but I'm not an idiot. I knew you would try something like this, I just thought you'd have the decency to kill me first."

Thomas flinched instantly. The words like shrapnel in his heart. How could he kill Newt? He was his best friend, crank or not.

"I'm sorry Newt. I _can't_ kil-"

"SHUT IT! JUST SHUT IT!" Newt cried. "Don't you dare say you can't kill me! You'd be doin me a favour and you know it. You don't have a buggin clue what's going on in my head! It's like that box alarm in going off in my skull all the time, and I can't escape it. I'm turning into a crank Tommy." Newt stopped, as if the words were caught in his throat. Thomas watched as he fell to his knees, threw his head in his hands and screamed a wild cry. "Please don't let me turn."


	3. A Way Out

The silence seemed to last forever, Thomas couldn't help but stare at his pathetic mess of a friend. He could hear the faint clang of the garbage can and the revs of the truck behind him. Lawrence must have been wondering what was happening but he hadn't called for Thomas to get back in the truck.

Even if he wanted to, he couldn't kill Newt. He didn't have a gun and he sure as hell wasn't going to kill him any other way. Wait. What was he thinking? He would never kill Newt. Even if the rat man, Janson, held a gun to his head and told him that he had no choice.

Other than Chuck, Newt was his best friend in the glade. Even now, it hurt when he remembered the bullet hitting Chuck and the blood pouring uncontrollably from his chest. He was done watching his friends die because of him.

"Minho would."

Thomas' thoughts collapsed and he snapped his attention back to Newt.

"What?"

"Minho wouldn't be such a coward, Tommy." he said standing up, then limping steadily towards Thomas. "Minho would take his gun, look me in the eye and shoot me" he grabbed Thomas' hand and placed it firmly on his forehead "right here, if he knew it was what I wanted."

Thomas couldn't believe what he was hearing. Newt's eyes were wild and it sounded as though he was snarling under his breath. "Well maybe you should have wrote the death plea to Minho then." he answered as he pulled his fingers from Newt's grasp. Thomas stepped back and rubbed his temple. "Those WICKED shanks have got us well and good." he muttered.

The side door of the truck opened suddenly and out ran Lawrence holding the fully loaded launcher in a firing position. "Thomas, what the hell are you doing get away from that crank."

"No" Thomas protested "he's a friend from the glade, he's not dangerous."

"He's a crank!" Lawrence yelled. "He will kill you given half the chance. Just get in the truck and let's go."

Before Thomas could even take a step, Newt's arm had coiled around his neck and was dragging him backwards. He stumbled but Newt hauled him back up and held him in place with nothing but his forearm. He couldn't see Newt's face yet he could feel the cold steel of a knife resting beneath his chin. Lawrence's face told him that he should be scared.

Nobody spoke for about a minute. Thomas' senses were heightened yet all he could feel was the sharp edge of the blade lightly touching his skin. If he flinched Newt was sure to cut him, whether it be part of a plan or not. Thomas could feel Newt's hammering heart beating recklessly against his chest. Lawrence stood ridged about three meters away, not saying a word. The situation was bizarre. What was Newt hoping to achieve?

Finally, Lawrence broke the silence.

"Look crank. I'll give you whatever you want, but you've got to let him go. I need him alive."

"His name is Newt. Not Crank." Thomas argued.

"Fine. Newt, let Thomas go and I won't shoot you."

Thomas thought that had to be the worst thing Lawrence could have said. All Newt wanted was to die and now he had his way out.


	4. There's Nothing Left for Me

"Lawrence you slinthead!" Thomas yelled at the driver. Newt pressed on the blade until it pierced his skin and a few specks of blood spurted out. It didn't hurt like he thought it would. It felt similar to being jabbed by the serum after a griever sting, except he wouldn't have to go through the changing this time. In fact, with Cranks everywhere, being stabbed seemed like the least of his worries.

Newt leaned in and whispered "Slim it Tom" in his ear. The blade remained pressed against his neck but Thomas wasn't afraid; he was sure this was all part of a plan and that Newt wasn't really going to kill him.

Lawrence looked confused and anxious; he stood pointing the launcher at the two friends but Thomas knew he wouldn't shoot. In the distance a sharp scream ripped through the air, causing a burning sense of panic to ignite within the boys. All three turned and scanned the area for signs of any Cranks. It seemed strange that Newt was all on his own out here. Thomas wondered how he escaped the Crank Palace and found himself alone in this desolate land.

"Newt" Thomas whispered gently, "what the hell are you doing? Lawrence won't shoot you while I'm here, and I'm sure as hell not going to. Why don't you come with us?" He knew how ridiculous it sounded but he truly meant it. He didn't want to leave him there. "Minho ain't coping, he needs you. We all do." Thomas twisted his neck, carefully, so he could see Newt's face. Tears had filled his pitiful eyes and were spilling onto his cheeks.

"I'm jacked Tommy, don't you get it?"

As he spoke, Thomas could feel the pressure on the blade start to lessen.

"Do you think I want to stay here? That I don't want to see Minho and Frypan and see this shuck mess out. Bloody hell that's all I wanted. Tommy I need you to do this, you need to kil-"

"No Newt."

"Please, I've got nothing left now. My whole life has been hell; I can't remember my family and I've got this bloody flare so I can't be with my friends. I was dead from the moment the rat man called my name." By this point Thomas was completely free; Newt's tear soaked face glistened under the burning rays of the sun. "The only thing I get to decide is my death. I need it Tommy, it's the one thing I can control. I know what I'm asking you is bloody huge", Newt inhaled deeply and spoke as if he wasn't in control of the words,"but please just kill me."

Thomas understood. Newt deserved better than the life he got. He hated that he had helped WICKED, and refused to imagine the person he was before the Glade. It wasn't right. Thomas closed his eyes briefly and within seconds the situation had escalated into madness.

"Get out of the way!" yelled a sudden voice from behind. A gun shot fired and a body fell to the ground.


	5. I Know the Truth

"Thomas! Say something Tommy come on! You ain't dying on me!"

Newt was sure he could feel Thomas' pulse beating softly. He was still alive. The bullet had entered his right hip just bellow the rib cage; It was a clean shot that had avoided all major organs. He hoped.

Frantically Newt tore off his shirt and bandaged it around Thomas' lower Torso. Blood seeped and spread through the cloth like rain water through soil. He intertwined his bony fingers and pressed down, hard, on the wound to prevent further fluid escaping.

The words "Should have been me" echoed through his skull. Watching helplessly as his best friend lay wounded had cleared his mind of all other thoughts. Usually, his head was crammed with deluded memories that he struggled to decipher into truth or lies. The Flare turned your brain into a disused wreckage of broken hope and cruel delusions. He just wanted it to stop.

"Get away from him!" Lawrence barked as he tore Newt's bloody hands from Thomas' side. "I've got to get him to the truck before those Cranks start attacking!"

They appeared from nowhere. A group of twenty Cranks were approaching slowly from the East. Newt scrambled to his feet and grabbed the launcher from beside Lawrence; Thomas lay motionless on the floor.

* * *

><p>He is about 13 years old, maybe older? He's pressed flat against a wall, listening to a conversation through a slightly open door.<p>

"So you're saying if we inject the subjects with a mild concentration of griever venom, we can make them believe they have been contaminated with the Flare?"

"The symptoms they will feel have many similarities to that of the Flare. Although, the progression will not surpass that of an early stage 'Crank'." Both scientists chuckle a little; This is the first time Thomas has ever heard the word. "If Janson gives us approval, I think the emotional responses would provide us with some fascinating results."

"I think it would be best if we take two subjects from each group."

"Test subject 3 is providing some interesting data. I think he would be a suitable candidate."

"Yes, Newt. I would like to run a few more tests but he will be our first choice."

"Agreed."

He doesn't know Newt or understand much of what the scientists have said. He carefully moves way from the door and returns to his room down a nearby corridor.

* * *

><p>The sound of Lawrence's panic stricken voice dragged Thomas from the depths of unconsciousness. He couldn't believe the things he had heard in his dream, yet every fibre of his being told him they was true. Newt wasn't infected with the Flare.<p>

The excruciating pain in his hip suddenly became apparent but right now he didn't care. Newt was immune and that's all that mattered. Lawrence firmly held him by the shoulders, scanning his body for other injuries. Newt stood above him firing the launcher fearlessly at an approaching Crank. It took all of his energy but Thomas managed to reach out and grip hold of Newt's ankle.

"Tommy!" Newt yelled, "I knew you weren't dead. You nearly scared me slinthead!"

Thomas motioned his hand for Newt to crouch down beside him. He dropped the launcher and screamed at Lawrence to pick it up and continue firing. The Cranks were getting closer.

"We need to get you back to the truck, you've lost a lot of blood." Newt declared as he helped Thomas to stand. Together they limped towards the vehicle. "Always tryin' be first for everything", Newt joked, "well I ain't letting you die before me."

The words burned inside of Thomas. If he didn't say them now he was sure to explode.

"You're immune Newt. It was all another trick by WICKED. You haven't got the Flare."


	6. You've Got to Believe Me

The only sound for miles was the incessant firing of Lawrence's launcher. Hundreds of bullets showered the land like a deadly merciless rain, killing everyone in sight. For a second, Thomas wasn't sure if he'd even said the words out loud. He imagined Newt would be jumping up and down screaming thanks, to some sort of god, for pardoning him of this unthinkable insanity. Instead, his body froze and a look of confusion surfaced in his eyes.

Thomas wasn't worried. The truth was worth more than any cure and he would prove to Newt that he wasn't a crank. All the pain and anxiety, within his heart, had been extinguished and in its place settled a comforting feeling of joy. He was sure that he had never felt so happy. He could hardly breath as he cried out the words out "You're immune!" over and over until his face flushed crimson.

"This is the first step towards beating WICKED", he thought. His best friend was undoubtedly immune. He was virtually the same Newt he had always been, accept he desperately needed a decent meal and some clean clothes. Who knew what else WICKED had lied about.

"What the hell Tommy?"

"Just hear me out, okay?"

Newt raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "What do you mean I'm not a Crank? Because it sure a hell feels like it."

Thomas didn't know how to explain.

"Sometimes, when I'm sleeping I remember stuff from the past. After I was shot I saw two scientists talking about Griever venom and how a small amount can do stuff to your brain. Before they sent us into the scorch, they injected you so that you'd go crazy. I swear it's the truth!"

For a moment Newt said nothing; the silence was deafening.

"I don't believe it."

"Newt, it's the buggin truth!

"Slim it!", he yelled, "I'm a Crank and nothin will change that! Not you, not WICKED, not nobody!" Newt's refusal to believe only served to annoy Thomas. He just wanted him to listen.

"Just...just come with us. Come back to the hanger, see the guys an-"

"No! I can't be trusted." The thought rapidly turned his stomach. Newt wretched and gagged until he choked on his own saliva; Thomas assumed it was a side effect of the Griever Venom. He begged Newt, once more, to go with him to the hanger.

"No Tommy. You're wrong about me."

"Fine", he shouted, "You stay here! If you don't want to finish all this klunk with WICKED I won't make you. So much for 'The Glue' that holds us all together. Let me guess, you're doing this for me right?"

"What the bloody hell does that mean?"

"You're scared that I'm wrong, and that if you come back to the hanger you might go full on Crank and start trying to eat my leg. Is that it?", Newt didn't respond, "Well you're wrong! I don't care if your'e immune, a crank, a three legged dog, I just want you with us. Nothing will change that."

Before Newt could respond Lawrence hit him sharply over the head with the launcher, knocking him to the ground. He was out cold.

"What the hell Lawrence?" Thomas cried out in confusion.

"I just shot twenty Cranks, then I turn around to see you two stood chatting like there ain't a damn thing going on. Just help me get him to the van and we will work it out when we get to the hanger."

Thomas didn't know what to say. After everything that had happened he refused to leave Newt there. The pain in his hip was intensifying but he managed to pick Newt up by the shoulders and drag him, with Lawrence's help, to the truck. They drove in silence for the remainder of the journey. The only calming thought Thomas had was that Minho would be relieved to see both of them alive.


	7. A Glader Reunion

The remainder of the drive seemed to last forever. When the truck, finally, rolled to a stop outside the Hanger depot, Thomas couldn't clamber outside quick enough. He had felt on edge, throughout the whole drive, watching Newt from the front seat of the vehicle. Lawrence hadn't muttered a word since they'd lifted Newt on to he back seat. If it wasn't for the slow and gentle rising of his chest, you would be forgiven for thinking he was dead. He was covered in blood. It leaked down the side of his face from a cut above his eye. It trickled from a deep gash along his arm. His trousers were stained with the stuff, whether it be his own or someone else's. It was as if his entire body had been tinted red. It upset Thomas to see him like that.

Before long the other Gladers had been told of his arrival. Minho appeared first through a side door attached to the hanger.

"Thomas", he called, "What gives? We thought you'd be back hours ago."

Minho grabbed Thomas by the hand and pulled him in for a momentary embrace. Thomas heard Minho sigh deeply as he patted him firmly on the back with his loose hand. This was Minho's way of telling you he's glad you're okay. He would never say it out loud, so this was as evident as he made it.

"We drove over a garbage can on the way back", he revealed as a loud banging sound crashed against the back of the van, "but that wasn't the only thing that stopped us."

"I'm going to kill you Tommy!" a voice yelled from inside the truck.

Minho looked sharply at the van, then quickly back at Thomas. "You made a friend? He seems nice."

"It ain't funny."

"That better not be my replacement slinthead", Minho joked as he peered around the truck, "I thought we had something special."

"Slim it."

Thomas knew what seeing him would do to Minho.

No one had forgotten Newt, but they had all tried to put their emotions on hold so they could deal with WICKED first. This wasn't going to be easy.

The click of a lock cut through the tension infused air. Before Thomas could explain anything, one of the rear van doors flew wide open. Minho watched as a beaten, blood drenched, figure limped weakly around the side of the vehicle. The three Gladers were reunited once again.

Newt looked livid.

Minho looked stupefied.

Thomas wanted to run before Newt lunged at him.

All of a sudden, bringing Newt back seemed like a really terrible idea. Although, there was nothing else him or Lawrence could have done; leaving him there just wasn't an option.

"How...how are you feeling?" Thomas stuttered.

Newt gave him a look that seemed to say 'shut it before I hit you'. He clearly wasn't happy about being brought back to the Hanger. His arms hung like weights by his side, he looked physically and emotionally drained. There was no promise of hope in his eyes like when they had first met. Only anger. Thomas waited for Minho to go crazy, to start demanding an explanation as to what Newt was doing in the van. Instead, he fixed his eyes on Newt and waited patiently for him to speak.

"Where- the bloody hell- is that Lawrence shank?" Newt asked with gritted teeth. "When I see him I'm going to return the bloody favour!" he shouted pointing to his head. "I told you not to bring me here. Why the bloody hell didn't you listen?"

"When does he ever listen?" Minho pointed out. He paused for a moment then added "It's good to see you. What the hell happened?."

Thomas knew that Newt wouldn't stay mad once he saw Minho.

"I escaped the Crank Palace and ended up on a roadside in the middle of nowhere. I was on my own until Tommy here drove by. His slinthead of a driver hit a garbage can, so when he got out I asked him to do me a favour.", he shot Thomas a fearsome look, "but now I'm here."

The pain in Thomas' side was increasing once again. How he was managing to stand up, for so long, he would never understand. He wondered if Newt remembered what he had told him. It didn't matter. They were all immune whether he believed it or not.

"You know why I brought you back!"

"Slim it Tommy!"

"Why did you bring him back?" Minho clamoured.

Thomas snapped back at Newt, "Why won't you just believe me?"

"Because it ain't the buggin truth!"

"Why did you bring him back?" Minho roared above the bickering sounds of his friends.

Thomas couldn't hold the words in any longer. Minho deserved to know the truth, despite what Newt thought.

"Newt ain't a crank", he mumbled, "he's immune like you and me. WICKED injected him with Griever venom so that he'd feel like a Crank without _actually_ being a Crank. It sounds crazy but it's the truth."

Newt wouldn't look at Thomas. He fixed his eyes on the ground and muttered harsh looking words under his breath. It was all on Minho now. Thomas didn't know how he would react or if he'd even believe him.

He watched as Minho ran his hand through his hair and sighed like his brain was on overdrive. A slight smile pulled at his lips which filled Thomas with relief.

"Good that." he agreed.


	8. Time For Action

By now, other Gladers had started to enter the hanger depot. Brenda ran speedily over to Thomas and hugged him before he could even say hello. She clung to his shirt and pulled him in close as if she hadn't seen him in years. Thomas reciprocated her hug, but as he did he noticed Teresa staring at him, with her burning blue eyes, from the other side of the hanger. Immediately, he released Brenda and stepped backwards, creating a significant distance between them. What was it about Teresa that made him feel so uneasy? As he moved away, a look of disappointment surfaced in Brenda's eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

"Of course I am. Where have you been? We thought you would have been back hours ago."

"We had a few problems on the way", he glanced over at Newt who was leant against the truck, "but we're okay now."

From nowhere a splintering pain shot through Thomas's body like he'd been stabbed by a Griever. He felt faint as his head started to pound and his heart pumped hard against his chest. It felt as though someone had kicked him in both his legs when they buckled and he fell to the ground like a lifeless corpse.

"Thomas! What wrong? Are you hurt? Talk to me! Tell me whats wrong" Brenda screamed.

Minho and George ran over quickly and caught Thomas just before his head hit the floor. Minho was calling to the others to get help as Brenda grasped hold of his hand and squeezed it tightly. His eyelids began to close, gradually, like the concrete doors of the Glade. Blackout.

When Thomas awoke he was sprawled, face down, on a lumpy red sofa hidden behind a vast sea of tables and plastic chairs. The room was stuffy due to the lack of windows; even the wallpaper was beginning to peel away from the walls in disgust. His arm hung like a dead weight from edge of the sofa; his fingers just brushing the cold tiled floor. He sat up gently so his back slumped against the far arm of the sofa.

"It's about time you woke up." Minho shouted sounding amused and giddy. "How you feeling now the fancy med jacks stitched you up?"

"Tired", Thomas grunted, "Where the buggin hell am I?" The pain in his side had finally subsided into nothing more than an uncomfortable ache in his hip and grumbling in the pit of his stomach. He was starving.

"We're sat in a canteen. Pretty grim one too. I brought you a sandwich that Frypan made. I took a bite myself so I know it's good."

Thomas looked at his friend despairingly; Minho could be a real slinthead when he wanted to. He snatched the sandwich and took a monstrous bite like he was some sort of wild creature. Chewing only twice, he gulped it down and instinctively ripped another bite from the soft bread.

"That shank sure can cook", Minho said while smirking, "take it easy, don't make yourself sick."

"Slim it." Thomas said jokingly. He didn't care how ridiculous he sounded when he spoke like a Glader.

He finished the Sandwich in a less than a minute, then sat back deliberately and let the feeling of hunger slip away. His shirt rose slightly, as he reached his arms above his head, to reveal a trail of stitches stretching from his navel all the way around his hip. It was a neat line that looked as though it could have been drawn on in indelible ink. He traced the scar gently with his thumb, and flinched whenever he pressed down too hard on his skins tender surface.

"That's a pretty scar you got yourself. Next time you should try to duck when a crank tries to shoot you-"

"Seriously!"

"It's just an idea!" Thomas shook his head as Minho laughed like an annoying child. It was moments like this when Thomas completely forgot about everything. He forgot about WICKED, about the Flare, he almost forgot about Chuck. Almost.

"Where's Newt?"

"Being tested for Flare symptoms by the doctors. That's why you're in here. I told them to throw you out to make room for him. Being shot ain't nothing to cry about."

"Glad I can always count on you for support"

"Of course", Minho jested, "It took a lot of persuading but I got him to go in. He still don't believe he's immune but this is the only way we can find out. I told him to meet us here when he gets out."

They waited for another twenty minutes before there was any sign of Newt. When he limped through the arched door into the canteen, Minho stood up and waved him over. Thomas's stomach sprung into life, as a mixture of nerves and worry bubbled up inside of him. Newt's face was expressionless. Neither Minho nor Thomas had a clue what he was going to say.

When he reached them, at the back of the empty canteen, he dragged a plastic chair over and perched himself right on the edge. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath like he was preparing to hear the news himself.

"Well" Minho started, "what did they say? Are you immune or not?"

Minho's tactless attitude came in useful during moments like this.

"Maybe"

"Maybe? What do you mean maybe?" Thomas protested.

"The doctors told me that there's something in my blood that's doing things to my head, but they don't know what it is. They said there's a chance it might not be the Flare but they don't know for sure."

All three Glader's went quiet for a moment. Thomas realised that as Newt had started speaking he'd moved right to the edge of the sofa. Any further and he would have slipped onto the floor. He shuffled back quickly and allowed his body to sink into the cushions. It was Minho who broke through the silence; his voice always seemed to boom as if it bounced off the walls.

"So there's two possibilities here. A. You're a Crank, and sometime soon you're going to turn around and start taking bites out of me and Tom here."

Thomas hated the way Minho spoke about Newt as if he was some sort of animal. He was still their friend, Crank or not.

"Or B. You're immune, but rat man and his scientist shanks thought it'd be fun to mess with you. So they put Griever venom in your blood and now it's making you go crazy."

"Pretty much." Newt agreed.

Again, silence fell as if there was nothing to say.

"Well what we going to do about it? I ain't sitting here until Newt starts going all psycho again. No offence."

"None taken."

"I say we break into WICKED and make them tell us what the hell they did to Newt! Who's with me?

Thomas realised, he had no idea if Newt would actually be willing to go. Last time they'd spoken, properly, he was ready to kill Thomas for bringing him to the right arm. He didn't believe he was immune so why would he want to risk being told he was right?

"I'm in."

"What?" Thomas said without hesitation.

"I said I'm in. I've thought about it and if there's a chance I'm immune then I'd be a slinthead not to take it. It's time to pay WICKED a bloody visit."

Minho nodded and said "Good that. I'll go find that Lawrence shank and tell him to get us a truck." Minho patted Thomas on the back as he left the canteen. Newt sat down beside him and rubbed his eyes once again.

"I wasn't really going to kill you" Newt said as he punched Thomas playfully in the arm. "I get what you're trying to do for me. I don't know if you're right but I've got to try something. I didn't go through all that Klunk in the maze to become voluntary Crank."

"You ain't a Crank Newt. I just know it."

"I need to here it from WICKED Tommy."

"Let's get movin' then."

They both stood up to walk out of the canteen, but before they left they shook hands to signify a truce. Newt was still one of Thomas' best friends, even if he had held a knife to his throat.


	9. Uninvited Guests

He walked beside Newt all the way to the hanger. They spoke of the scorch and Newt's escape from the Crank Palace. He laughed when Newt told of one Crank who got stuck on a fence, as they were running away from five armed guards. Apparently he was a "Slinthead who talked klunk all the buggin day" so Thomas thought he probably deserved it.

On their way to the hanger they passed through a huge reception area. He hadn't realised what kind of structure the Right Arm was until now. It must have been an abandoned office building as it stretched 10 floors above the ground and was full of empty conference rooms. The only quirk about the place was the depot at the back. Thomas assumed it was where all the office supplies were delivered and stored. Now it had been completely cleared and filled with trucks and vans of every size.

When they entered through the sliding glass doors, the reception looked empty. It wasn't until a voice called out that Thomas realised they weren't alone.

"Thomas wait!" shouted Teresa. He could here Newt muttering something as she caught up with them. He clearly hadn't missed her since becoming a Crank. "Is it true you, Newt and Minho are planning on breaking into WICKED? Are you out of your mind?"

"Who told you?"

"Brenda, and don't look so surprised. Just because all you guys hate me for what I did doesn't mean she can't understand."

Newt abruptly cut in to say "Doesn't make it right either!"

"Slim it Newt", Thomas said in defence, " go find Minho and I'll meet you at the hanger."

"Fine. Don't waste all day with this shuck traitor though." Newt shot a glare in Teresa's direction and left. He really wasn't in the mood for being nice and Thomas thought, after the day he'd had, it was understandable.

"I see Newt's back to his old self."

"He's been through a lot. It could have been worse." Thomas didn't know how to be around Teresa anymore. He knew everything she did was to save him from a horrific death at the hands of WICKED, but betrayal was still fresh in his heart. He couldn't forget that easily. "And no, we're not out of my mind. Breaking into WICKED could be the only way of finding out if Newt is immune."

"Thomas, you can't just walk into WICKED!"

"Why not?"

"Because you know what will happen! You'll walk through the door and they'll find you and kill you. They've wanted you from the beginning and now you're literally playing into their hands."

"We'll take launchers, they won't catch us.", he paused and saw that Teresa's eyes were beginning to well, "We just want to talk to Janson. That's all.

"Well go then, but I'm coming with you."

Thomas almost laughed out loud. "Oh what a great idea, Minho will love that."

"I'm being serious. If something goes wrong you'll need me to get us out of there, seen as though I'm the only one who remembers the layout of the place."

"Okay", he agreed after serious deliberation, "but stay out of Minho and Newt's way. They ain't going to be happy your joining us on this little trip."

"Fine. Let's go."

He strained a gentle smile and turned to walk away. As he reached the door and pushed it open Teresa shouted "What if Newt's a Crank? What are you going to do then?"

He hadn't even considered it. What would he do?

"I haven't got a buggin clue."

Teresa didn't respond. She just smiled sympathetically and nodded as if to say I understand. Maybe she did. Thomas would do anything to save Newt, no matter the cost. Teresa had sacrificed their friendship in exchange for his life. They were more similar than he'd chosen to remember. "Now come on, Newt will be waiting for us."

It took a lot of persuading before Minho finally agreed to let Teresa tag along. He called Thomas a "Slinthead" a "buggin idiot" and a "shuckface shank", but after he ran out of insults he reluctantly accepted. Only on the condition she didn't speak to him at all during the journey. He also wanted permission to stun her, with his launcher, if he thought she was acting suspicious. Thomas was less a obliging to that request.

Lawrence refused to let them go alone so Minho convinced him to act as their driver. Minho had a way of making people do what he wanted, usually involving the threat of physical violence. Thomas sat on the back seat in-between Teresa and Newt. It had to be the most uncomfortable hour he had spent since entering the Glade. Teresa sat gazing out of the window, seemingly occupied by the deserted scorch terrain. A few times he nearly reached over and touched her hand to ask how she was, yet he couldn't bring himself to disturb her. It still did to feel right to act as though everything was okay. It certainly wasn't. Newt hardly spoke at all. He was skin was layered in dried blood and dirt. Whenever he noticed Thomas staring he'd say "Quit lookin at me, I ain't that buggin ugly." and punch him in the arm. He had forgotten how much he missed Newt.

"We're less than three miles away now" Lawrence reported as they neared WICKED's headquarters. Newt stared at him, coldly, clearly still angry about the whole knocking him out with a launcher scenario.

They decided to park round the back of the headquarters and wait for an opportunity to enter though the depot gates. Minho suggested they jump on one of the delivery trucks, most likely carrying other munies, and sneak in that way. Teresa thought it was a bad plan but Minho refused to listen. Whenever she spoke he held up his hand as if to say stop talking, and did so as if it was a reflex he could not prevent. Thomas didn't try to stop him. He liked Minho's plan and Teresa had agreed not to talk to him before they'd set off. He knew that this mission was going to be stressful, like battling a Griever with one arm in the dark.

"Now!" Shouted Minho as all four Gladers dived into a van. Lawrence decided to stay in the truck so they could make a quick escape if necessary. The van was full of crates and boxes marked with red danger signs. Newt carefully cleared a space at the back, behind some wooden crates, where they could hide until it was time to jump off.

"Keep quiet", Newt whispered, " they can't find us until we get inside."

"They better not find us at all." Thomas mumbled trying to make light of the situation.

"Slim it", Minho murmured, "I think we've stopped."

The truck slowly rolled into the depot and halted with a jerk. The Gladers fell like dominos, with a thud, into the back wall of the van. Thomas gently stood up and began walking towards the huge white doors of the van. With the others following closely behind, he pushed the left door, slightly, so he could peer thought the gap. The room was empty. The WICKED vans were lined up, perfectly, like soldiers going into battle. Their parking precision was terrifying.

"There's no one out there. What the plan Minho?"

He thought for a second, then decided "Split up into pairs and search the building from top to bottom. I swiped a couple of Walkie Talkies from Lawrence so we'll use them to communicate. No one kills Janson until we know the truth. Got it?"

"Got it." Thomas said with certainty. There wasn't anything about the plan that worried him. He just hoped that WICKED didn't find them before they got to Janson.

"Who's with who?" Teresa asked stupidly. Minho and Newt didn't even try to hide there amusement; they laughed like they'd just seen someone trip and fall flat on there face.

"Bloody hell do you think I'd go with you?", Newt hissed, "I'd rather Janson told me I was a Crank than let you have my back. Tommy, you're with the traitor. You brought her."

He looked apologetically at Teresa. Newt really wasn't holding back. "Good that. We'll take the right stairwell, you guys go up the left."

"Okay. Take the Walkie Talkie's, if anything goes wrong tell us where you are. You're one annoying shank but I ain't leaving you behind." Thomas nodded and pushed the door wide open. He jumped down then helped Teresa by lifting her out and onto the ground. They were about to leave when Newt yelled "And don't go trying to be a hero for shuck sake. Or this time I'll shoot you myself."

Thomas laughed and called "Don't tempt me."


	10. Radio Silence

The stairwell was deserted. Thomas only had to turn the door handle a fraction before the door obligingly swung open, to reveal the empty corridor. He didn't understand why the place was so empty. Didn't WICKED worry about people braking in enough to, at least, lock the doors?

Since leaving the hanger Thomas had had a terrible feeling that, somehow, WICKED knew what they were planning. He couldn't shake the thought that, somewhere, Janson was waiting for them. That at any moment he would appear, roll out the welcome mat and show them to the nearest medical room. Something wasn't right.

Teresa stalked through the now open door clutching the launcher tightly to her chest. Her grip was fairly steady, but Thomas noticed her frantic eyes flickering around the room. She was breathing heavily, as if her lungs were working on overdrive just to keep her moving.

He hadn't seen this Teresa before and it was beginning to unnerve him. Maybe she knew something he didn't?

They climbed level after level, testing a never ending supply of locked doors, looking for an opening into WICKED's main facility. Then, when they had reached the 9th level, a large metal door beckoned to Thomas' subconscious mind. When he placed his hand on the cool metal bar a familiar tingle shot through the tips of his fingers. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.

He pushed the steel bar downwards, releasing the catch which held the door closed. Together he and Teresa shoved it open and peeked carefully around the side. Again, the place was deserted. No guards, no security camera's, nothing.

"All clear." Teresa whispered. She gestured for Thomas to follow, as she cautiously stepped through the door. "I think I remember this place. Look at the signs on the wall."

Thomas walked over to a bright yellow warning poster that read 'CAUTION. REMAIN BEHIND GLASS AT ALL TIMES DURING WORKING HOURS. ANYONE FOUND INSIDE THE TESTING BAYS WILL BE REMOVED.'

"We worked here", she cried suddenly, "I had a dream where I saw you and me stood behind these glass windows. I remember watching two scientists taking a boys blood pressure. I can still see his face." she hesitated, like she had just realised something terrible, "He looked scared. Terrified. We couldn't do anything but stand and watch."

Thomas' heart sank, like a rock, deep down into the pit of his stomach. How did Teresa remember that this was their workplace? He hardly knew anything about their life before the Glade. Now here Teresa was telling him this was where they had worked, together, for years. This was where they had spent countless hours preparing innocent boys for the horror of the Glade. It was all too much.

He was about to ask her why she knew so much about the place when the Walkie talkies began to crackle, and the scratchy sound of Minho's voice broke through. "Thomas, you there?"

Frantically he juggled the device, searching for the talk button. "I'm here! I'm here Minho, what's wrong?" The sound of a launcher gun shot tore through the silence of the corridor.

"We got company!", Minho screamed, "We're on the 10th floor and there's WICKED shanks everywhere! We need back up!"

"Minho, what corridor? What's the number?", no response, "Minho!"

The line was dead.

He shot a desperate look at Teresa, then back at the Walkie talkie. He gripped the talk button and furiously shouted Minho's name over and over. After a minute, Teresa reached across and placed her hand on top of his. She gently squeezed it and prised the device from his sweaty palm.

"He's gone, okay? We need to get ourselves together and go find them", she then grabbed his hand firmly and gave him an expectant nod, "Are you with me?"

He didn't have to be asked twice. "Yes. Let's go."

From nowhere the sound of footsteps echoed from behind the metal door.

A tall muscular guard, who clearly had no idea that intruders had breached the depot area, wandered in and froze with horror at the sight of Thomas and Teresa. Instinctively, Thomas held up his launcher and pointed it, square, at the guards face. Teresa did the same as the guard raised his arms and reluctantly dropped his Walkie talkie.

She scrambled to pick it up, while Thomas pressed the launcher so it was almost touching his nose. The guard didn't make a sound; he just stood staring at Thomas with pleading eyes that begged Thomas not to hurt him. He knew what he had to do. Without a trace of humanity Thomas threatened "Tell us where our friends are or I'll shoot you in the head."

He could hardly believe the words had came from his mouth; he'd never said anything so violent in his life. He hoped he hadn't anyway. There was just no way he was letting WICKED take Newt and Minho away from him. He had lost too much to let anything happen to his best friends.

The guard hardly put up any fight. He told them that they would find Newt and Minho in a storage area at the East side of the building. Teresa found an emergency hose pipe and tied the guard up, tightly, inside one of the office rooms. He didn't seem to know who had take them and what was happening. Right now, Thomas didn't have time to care. He was going to find them one way or another.

The adrenaline racing through Thomas's body made the journey to the warehouse seem blurry and winding. The further into WICKED they travelled, the more Teresa recalled about its location. She ran ahead and found a large warehouse sign with an arrow directing them to a concealed flight of stairs. Thomas was about to suggest that he go down first, and that she wait there until he had scoped the area for WICKED guards. Instead, she marched ahead and dragged the creaking door open with both her scrawny arms. There was a determined look burning on the surface of her bright blue eyes.

"Come on, stay close. We don't know what might be down there."

"Okay. Lead the way." Thomas agreed. He found it strange how prepared Teresa was to help him find Minho and Newt. They hated her, rightly so, and he doubted that they would ever do the same if she was missing. He questioned her character more and more these days; things were so much simpler for the short time they were in the Glade.

The fearsome bark of a man's voice thundered through the warehouse as Thomas and Teresa descended the stairs.

"I'll ask you one more time. Tell me where they are, or I swear I'll kill him right here. Right now!"

As they reached the bottom they heard the brutal sound of a hand colliding with someone's they heard it again. Instinctively Thomas touched his own cheek, imagining the burning sensation spreading through the receivers. It was only when they crept through into the warehouse itself that Thomas saw what he had secretly been dreading.

Minho and Newt were tied to wooden chairs in the centre of the dusty warehouse floor. Both their arms and legs were bound in plastic cable ties, normally used for securing crates and boxes. Blood dripped tortuously from a cut above Minho's right eye. He was hunched forward, with only the ties preventing him from dropping to the floor. Nothing could fully express how drained Minho looked. Thomas could tell he'd been beaten. Badly.

Sitting to his side, upright and calm, was Newt. For some reason he looked completely different. His lip was bloody and swollen, and his eye sockets were surrounded with bruises, but there was still a fight burning inside of him. He was sat up straight, cool as anything, while the man stood a metre in front with a launcher pointed at Minho's head.

Thomas knew there was nothing that anyone could say to break Newt now. He'd been through more than any of them, and Thomas doubted that this slinthead would pose much of a threat.

"Bloody hell, I told you already. I don't know anything!" Newt spat. He glanced quickly at Minho then back at the guard. He had shown no sign of weakness, so far, but in that moment a touch of concern seemed to cross his mind.

The guard was becoming impatient. "We can do this all day."

"Sounds good to me", he joked while leaning back in his chair, "I'm just a crank, I know nothing. But if you let us go I promise I won't kick the klunk out of you later."

The guards sturdy jaw suddenly contorted into a smile. A sinister grin that clung to the edges of his face in a way that looks forced and painful. That statement must have amused him, and now Thomas was concerned as to what he might do next. He bent down and grabbed a handful of Newt's shirt in his vice like fist.

He pulled Newt forward until his face was only centimetres away, then quietly whispered "We'll see about that".


End file.
